12 or 23 or 25 for the hurt/comfort prompts itz up to you my dude............... love ur writing by the way
So this turned out to be more hurt then confort. Sorry??
tw for blood and torture
~
Remus opens his eyes.
He’s tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his wrists aching. The rope cut into his wrists leaving bruises, dark marks against the paleness of his skin. He coughs, tasting blood.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. In and out, without the Death Eaters noticing, slip into the base, rescue Peter and then disappear. They had everything planned out - James’ invisibility cloak and Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, all the exits mapped and even an unlocked window on the fourth floor.
Him and Sirius had found Peter easily enough, curled up in his side in the dim cells. They had made it all the way to the front door, about to vanish. Peter even made it out. They should have made it.
Someone tipped them off. The words float bitterly inside his brain. Someone betrayed us.
Remus lets his his head fall back, resting against the back of the chair. They hadn’t been gentle with him, the Death Eaters, had tortured him pretty badly since morning. He winces as he remembers the Crucios, the cracking in his body as his ribs collapsed. The way they pushed him against the wall, heavy chains around his ankles, with nothing to bite down on as the knife flashed in the darkness. He remembers the cold bite of metal, the absolute burning agony of silver against his flesh, the way he bit back sobs as the knife pressed against his scars and made them bleed.
He still hadn’t told them anything, though, had refused to utter a single word. He knew that somewhere, lost in this maze of cells and bars was Sirius, surely getting tortured as well.
Sirius. The name makes his chest hurt, makes him cough until he can’t breathe. Sirius wouldn’t break. Sirius would endure all this and more and still wouldn’t say anything.
Remus had to do the same.
He can’t stop the fear that floods his body when he heard the door open, though, the panic in his veins as several hooded figures stepped into the room. One of them waves their wand in a careless motion; the rope falls to the ground, along with a layer of skin.
“Be careful,” says someone, their tone sharp. “They want him alive.”
Blood drips onto the ground as Remus glares up at them, his fingers going numb. Without warning, he turns, clutching the chair in his hands. It spins through the air in a deadly arc, smashing into the Death Eater on his left; Remus ducks a bolt of light and lunges for a wand.
His fingers close around air. There’s a soft exhalation, then a shock of pain slams through his body, turning everything white. Remus grits his teeth, forcing himself to his knees; he hears an amused chuckle from above him as the pain doubles down.
“Interesting,” says someone, and Remus feels cold silver around his wrists.
The pain still hasn’t stopped, leaving him convulsing on the floor, tearing through his body like lightning. Remus clenches his jaw harder, black spots dancing at the corners of his eyes.
Someone kicks at his side but he barely feels it, his body shuddering and mind blank. Remus lies on the floor, weathers the agony until it finally stops.
A hand reaches for his throat, pulling his his chin roughly up; Remus swallows hard and stares back defiantly.
“You like that?” someone asks. Remus clenches his jaw.
The voice laughs; Remus’ vision is swimming now, a pool of tears and white light and darkness. He wrenches at the chains around his wrists as he slowly passes out.
~
“Remus. Remus.”
Remus slowly opens his eyes. He’s on the floor, blood trickling over his stomach and onto the stones. It’s matted, mixing into his hair and staining his skin, coating the tattered shirt he wears with a vibrant shade of crimson.
There’s something burning at his wrist, something like a circle of fire pressing against his skin. Remus stares down at his hands; they’re covered in thick, shiny scar tissue, winding up and down his fingers like ropes. The bands of silver gleam in the darkness, the skin around it blackened and peeling.
He thinks he might lose conscious again, the world spinning around him. Remus takes a deep breath, ribs screaming as someone called out his name.
“Remus - “
Fuck. “Sirius?” God, his voice is raw but Remus makes himself call out anyways. “Sirius?”
He opens his eyes, forces them to focus on the figure slumped against the other wall. Sirius looks awful, blood matting his hair in clumps. There’s a deep gash on his cheek, like an arch; dimly Remus thinks that it only accentuates his cheekbones.
“Thank God,” Sirius says, his voice trembling. “You were passed out for so long and - “
Remus cut him off. “What happened?”
Sirius shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. They were cutting me, and I think I must have passed out because next thing I knew, the door was openning and they brought you inside.” He swallows, wincing minutely; his voice is so hoarse from screaming. “And you didn’t wake up. For hours, at least. I thought you were dead, or a hallucination - “
“Hallucination?”
Sirius nods. “Yeah. They already broke my body, so they decided to break my mind.”
“God.” Remus winces. “Jesus. Where did those bruises come from?”
Sirius shakes his head. “The ones on my face? One of the guys stepped on my nose; I think he broke it.” He holds up a hand - it’s bleeding badly, the skin scraped away from it like a glove. “I tore my hand out of the shackles trying to get to you. I was about to do the other when you woke up.”
Remus closes his eyes. “They put my hands in molten silver. I couldn’t get it off until they came back.”
“Then how - “
The door opens with a clatter, the room filling with swirling cloaks and silver masks. Remus falls silent, his heart pounding; Sirius looked livid.
“Right.” A man steps forward - his hood is pulled back, revealing his face. There’s a cold sort of amusement in his eyes as he looks them both up and down, eyes glinting at the fear he surely saw there. “My name is Rookwood.”
“Really?” Sirius says. “My name is ‘Fuck You’”
Rookwood didn’t even blink. “It seems that you have both been…uncooperative with information. I have come to remedy that.”
Sirius laughs, bitter and grating. “The only thing that you should be remedying is your impotency. We’re not - “
Remus watches in horror as a Death Eater steps forward, the tip of his wand glowing a deep red. It sizzles as he presses it to Sirius’ skin.
In a flash, Remus understands what Sirius was doing, why he was being so stupidly defiant. A memory of a rooftop flashes in front of his eyes, rain on cobblestones and sliding against tiles. I’d rather it be me. It should always be me.
“Stop,” says Remus; Sirius’ muscles are tight, cords showing up in his neck. He can see blood beading at his lip from where he had bitten it, jaw clenched in an effort not to scream. “Please, stop.”
Rookwood makes a motion; the Death Eater removes the wand from Sirius’ back. The burn is shiny against the tan of Sirius’ skin, reminding Remus of the burns on his own fingers; he clenches then tightly at his side. “Not him. Don’t hurt him.”
Something sparks in Rookwood’s eyes, his head tilting back. “Oh I see. Lovers, aren’t you? The werewolf and the bastard child. Tell me, is there any love in this relationship? Or do you two simply fuck?”
“Wanting to join us?,” Sirius growls. Rookwood smiles coldly. “Of course not. Merely…one may be persuaded by using the other.”
In a flash, Remus understands; he can see from the look on Sirius’ face that he gets it too. “No,” Remus croaks out. “Me. Take me. Torture me. Leave him alone.”
“No,” Sirius says; there’s a jolt as he throws his ruins body against the chains. “Remus, shut up. Please, shut up. Rookwood, you absolute son of a bitch - “
The Death Eaters hit him, hard across the face; Remus swallows the scream in his throat. “Not him, please, take me instead - “
Rookwood is quiet, watching them. Remus’ pleads and Sirius’ taunts. He shrugs. “Frankly speaking,” he says to Sirius, “I hate you more. String him up.”
“No,” Remus shouts, but it’s too late. He catches the look of relief on Sirius’ face before he’s being hauled up, spread against the wall. “No, not him, make it stop - “
“It will stop,” Rookwood says quietly, “When you have told me everything. Who is in the Order. The location of your base. The number of people you have.”
“Don’t,” Sirius calls over his shoulder. From here Remus can see the scars, layers and layers of them like wings carved into his back. “Don’t tell that bastard - “ He doubles over, blood opening from a gash in his side.
Remus closes his eyes, heart pounding, soul being ripped apart. “I can’t tell you.”
Rookwood merely smiles. “Whip him.”
Remus’ eyes fly open; he can see the colour draining from Sirius’ face, turning him deathly white. “No,” he whispers. “Not a whip.”
There was always a whip in Sirius’ stories, clutched in his mother’s hand. Carving new feathers into his back, one after another, sometimes so badly that he couldn’t walk for days afterwards.
He remembers one night, Sirius coming into the room and seeing one of Remus’ belts, thrown casually over his trunk, remembers the way he had stopped dead and almost collapsed.
Sirius couldn’t take a whipping. There were too many ghosts.
With a groan, Remus wrenches at his chains, ignoring the way the silver dig into his wrists and made them burn. “Please. Take me, whip me instead. Leave him alone.”
“Shut up Remus!” Sirius shouts. Remus ignores him him.
“Please, I will do anything - “
He doesn’t realize that someone is behind him until he feels them, one hand curling around his waist. Yellow eyes meet his, lips pulled back to reveal a number of yellowed, jagged teeth.
He thinks he’s going to faint. Remus stares at Greyback, at the teeth that so perfectly matched the mess of pulped scar tissue on his ribs, the utter delight that lit Greyback’s eyes. “Shhh little Remus,” he whispers, one hand curling over the jutting bones in his hip. He felt a talon slice open his skin, blood welling onto the floor.
Rookwood smiles. “Why don’t you begin?” he says, and the whip goes flying. It catches against Sirius’ back, tearing skin open and sending blood running in a ruby stream down his back.
Remus jerks again to no effect; Greyback laughs as his claws dig deeper into Remus’ flesh. “This only lasts for as long as you let it, little pup. You can save him.”
Rookwood spreads his hands. “Tell us, Remus.” Behind him, the whip goes flying again. “Anything. Just one thing.”
“Go to hell,” Remus spits. The whip comes down again.
He’s frozen, trying to pull his eyes from Sirius and yet failing to do so. Sirius’ spine is arched, like the tip of a wave before it crashed down, blood coating his skin like a sunset on water. His eyes are closed, fingers bleeding from where they were gripping the stone, every muscle in his body tensed for the next blow.
They already broke my body, so they decided to break my mind.
He could almost see the memories starting to well up, days of Walburga and Grimmauld Place. Past and present blurring together, old scars being ripped anew.
One day, if they ever got out of here, if those wounds ever healed, one day there would be scars left. Old and new, tangled together, woven until neither would be able to tell which was which.
Except for Remus. He watches another line open up, blood welling and spilling on the already wet floor.
Beside his ear, Greyback chuckles. “Ah, screaming. Music to my ears.”
“Fuck you - “
“Remember, Remus,” Rookwood says, watching as Sirius let out a silent scream. “He’s suffering on your behalf. Don’t draw this out any longer.”
Sirius glanced up. His eyes are dull from pain, his voice hoarse, but there’s still defiance written in every line in his body as he whispers, “Don’t.”
“Well, Remus?” Rookwood watches with dispassionate interest; Greyback’s claws dig deeper into Remus’ skin. “Had enough yet?”
Remus shakes his head, his gut clenching. The whip falls down again; Sirius lets out a small, choked noise, stifled against his swollen lip. “No.”
Rookwood’s mouth compresses into a single, thin line. “Keep going,” he spits; Sirius arches his back as the whip continues to fall. “Fine. Fine. Greyback.”
And he knows what’s coming, the fear making his body start to shut down, knows the gleam of utter delight in Greyback’s eyes. He starts to tremble, starts to shake uncontrollably, can barely hear Sirius’ muffled roar over the pounding of his heart.
And Remus swallows, hard, listens to Sirius’ screams and Rookwood’s orders and the sound of a whip falling against skin as Greyback runs a hand down Remus’ collarbone. He tries not to collapse when his shrug his shirt is ripped off, when Sirius sags against his chains, still screaming.
Remus meets Sirius’ eyes. And he doesn’t look away when Greyback sinks his teeth into Remus’ shoulder.
I don’t know whether to cry or scream or throw my laptop across the room
